


The Resolution

by ura_nium



Series: and your compass be true [1]
Category: Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Post-Canon Fix-It, Spoilers, happy ending because wondertrev is precious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 08:47:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11123814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ura_nium/pseuds/ura_nium
Summary: He flies out into the eye of the storm, but it is her who brings him back.





	The Resolution

**Author's Note:**

> Not my best work, but I wrote this in a rush because while I appreciate the angst that the ending brings, these two cinnamon rolls deserve nothing less than happiness, preferably with each other. So there.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words. Not beta-read, written in a hurry, please pardon the potential mistakes
> 
> Happy reading!

 

 

  
He can't see through the clouds, but he knows that his target is near, and his time is almost up.  
  
Parachutes will unlikely do much to bolster his chances, but he has to try. For the people he loves, for his fellow men. For his late parents, for the land they loved, that _he_ loves, he is doing it for his little sister back home, awaiting his return.

And then there’s Diana. Fierce, intelligent, fearless Diana. There is still so much to do, so much to tell everyone. The mission, his country, his love. Time, time. There is not enough time.  
  
He sets the plane on autopilot and it sputters incredulously at the abandonment. He hasn't got time to search, so the chute from the unconscious pilot will have to do. As for the mustard gas, there is not much of a choice, he has to shoot, and then there is a split-second for him to jump. Unless—

Through the rows and rows of mustard gas bombs ( _deathhorrordestructionburning_ ) he stumbles, before dropping to the prone form of the soldier who he unceremoniously knocked out and pushed to the wayside in the heat of the hijack. He prays to God, or rather, gods, the good ones, if they still existed, for some luck in his search. There had to be something he could use.  
  
The plane rolls with the wind and a spherical hand grenade jerks clean of his grasp. He lunges like a man possessed, catches it before it tumbles out of reach, into the back recesses of the doomed plane. It's a red Kugel — that’s 5 seconds to make it or break it. Cursing feverishly, he straps on the parachute and stands at the plane door. In the periphery, he can see the one of the soldiers stirring. He has to make it quick, if not he will be going down with these poor men.  
  
The trigger is slippery, but he grips it, pulls. The explosive is heavy in his hand as he forcefully wedges it into an opening between four of the gas canisters; he needed it to stay in the plane, explode in the plane, and destroy the plane and only the plane. And all this would end.  
  
Steve takes in what could possibly be his final breath, and jumps.  
  
The thin, icy air has barely reached his lungs when the first explosion hits. It knocks the wind out of him, and he almost loses grip of the ripcord. It is followed immediately by the next wave, which made the first look like a gentle puff of smoke; the concussive force of the mustard gas combusting is enough to making his vision black out for a few beats. When he comes to, he realises that he is free-falling, and his chute on fire. Like, literally, flaming. The air around the explosion itself is burning, so that must have been what caused the damage to his pack.  
  
He is going to crash.  
  
There is no time for regrets because the air is thin, his ears are deaf to the howl of the winds, and his head is spinning like a cockscrew, so he isn't exactly thinking straight. It takes more effort than he expects to snap the ripcord, his dominant arm is all pins and needles and numb from strong-arming the joystick of the aircraft, but at least the parachute billows out, a black sail against the burning sky. The sudden halt in velocity jerks him upwards, making his heart swoop in his chest. At least one thing went right, and his parachute is still intact, unaffected by the fire.  
  
A glowing piece of debris about the size of his face whistles past him as it plummets out of the sky.  
  
Spoke too soon.  
  
The first piece that hits his chute bounces off, but the rest are not as kind. He stops counting after the fourth and with every hole the flaming debris punches into the chute, he falls faster.  
  
With the ground approaching him at that speed, there is no way in heaven or hell that he could hope for a safe landing. It was like watching a horrific traffic accident happen right before your eyes — you just can't look away. All he can think about is that he is going to die, and Diana is going to have to pick up his pieces and god, he really doesn't want to make her cry. Not again.

He screws his eyes shut and turns away, his legs give—

Everything goes black.

* * *

She stands in the wake of the battle, panting slightly from charging straight at Ares and reeling from the sheer power she now feels, radiating from her bones. Sammy, Charlie and Chief are scattered amongst the small number of dazed German soldiers who are mostly disarmed and rattled by the state of their previously formidable fortress. She sees that Sammy is binding their hands and legs with coarse rope _—_  the surviving soldiers know that their battle here is well and truly lost and none resist the arrest. Seeing their artillery go up in flames must have been mortifying.

She takes all this in, feeling numb and cold, all at once. The chilly weather of this land never bothered her, until now, when she realizes she is standing alone for the first time since she got here, and Steve is... Steve is _gone_.  
  
All of a sudden, it's like a vacuum is forming in her chest, one that is crushing her from the inside out. It hurts, and she can't breathe.  
  
_Steve. What are you saying?_  
  
_**I have to go.**_  
  
_Why, why do you—_  
  
_**I wish we had more time.**_  
  
_We do, just stay here, with me._  
  
_**I**_  
  
_Steve, please —_  
  
_**love**_  
  
_No, no, no_  
  
_**you**_  
  
"NO!" The cry explodes out of her mouth and echoes in the decimated land. All gazes snap to her, but she can't be here right now, she can't be here, she needs to get some place where she can scream, where she can trample everything without hurting a single soul, where she can breathe—  
  
She has to find Steve. Only he could help. He can help, he will help.  
  
Without second thought, she coils back and springs into the sky and shoots into the sky. Right, she can fly now, she recalls emptily, as the moisture from the clouds dampen her hair and chill her heated skin. Her newfound abilities bring her no joy, and are of no help to her as she scours the bruised sky frantically for the craft. The sunrise is bleeding through the cloud, bursting through cracks in the blue beyond, like a fire slowly threatening to engulf the heavens.  
  
Then she spots black smoke pushing through the clouds, just ahead.

Diana feels her heart rising slowly into her throat in horror as she descends, through the clouds. The aircraft is no longer in the sky, but even in the wake of the explosion, the sight is terrible and monstrous, a colossal wall of pitch and fire. Never has she seen a singular event that could leave such a trail of destruction, or threaten to overwhelm her with its sheer immensity.

"Steve." Her mouth curves uselessly around the word. She is too late. He could not have survived this. Steve is powerful in so many ways, but he is still mortal, still human...

The princess, no, demigoddess now, touches down on the ashy earth, tears finally consuming her being. The field she lands in is littered with remnants of the disaster, large patches of grass still smoldering or burning dully with the fires set by the scattered wreck; she stands in the midst of devastation, she mourns like she has refused to since the battle on the beach, but she can't contain the agony any further. It is appalling how much it hurts — it feels as if she has lost her heart.

"Diana."

She stops.

“Di—” the sound cuts off with a groan. She startles, leaping to her feet in a heartbeat. It is thready, and soft, but definitely Steve. Steve.

"Steve?" She calls shakily, hoping to hear his response. Her hearing sharpens at her compulsion and she hones in on the sound of his voice — the murmurs are softer now, indistinct, and she can hear him, clearly overcome by pain, but still calling her name. Still thinking about her. So she does the same.

"Steve. Steve!"

A faint cough to Diana’s right sends hurtling into that general direction, plains spotted with smoldering debris streak past her, burning vegetation, smoke, and...There! Just some ways ahead, the collapsed, mangled remains of some large cloth, and a lone figure sprawled haplessly in the thick.

He is alive.

The man’s injuries are grave, and she knows that as soon as she sees him, but he is conscious, just barely, breaths coming in short, pained spurts, turning white in the chill as soon as they leave his pale lips.  
  
"Steve." She exhales, feeling the weight lift off her shoulders entirely. The injured soldier's eyes crack open at her words and she can’t hold back the watery grin that spreads across her face when she sees his brilliant blues. It is something that she will never tire of.  
  
"Heya…”

His hands find hers first, clumsy and slick with sweat, fuel, dirt, and blood.

“... we really hafta stop... meeting like this, Angel."

Laughter bubbles from Diana’s mouth, and she is shaking like a leaf in the wind. She searches for the words, but all of them elude her in favor of indescribable joy. Finally, the heroine manages, "Angel?"  
  
He gives a small chuckle, before grimacing at the protest from his ribs, "That’s what I thought you were, the first time around. But now you really look like one, coming down from the clouds like that. An avenging angel.”

"… I am not too sure about that. However, I assure you that you have been avenged, and I appear before you only to ascertain your well-being."  
  
"Well, then, I guess that makes you my guardian angel. My very own guardian angel." He whispers, lifting a shaking hand to thumb away a stray tear making its way down her face before it falls on his face. "How blessed am I to be in thy presence."  
  
Diana’s hand catches his and presses it to her lips.  
  
"As am I, love." She whispers brokenly into his warm, solid palm. This is real. By Zeus, this is real.  
  
"As am I."

* * *

_"_

_And though it in the center sit,_

_yet when the other far doth roam,_

_it leans and hearkens after it,_

_and grows erect, as that comes home._

 

_Such wilt thou be to me, who must_

_like th' other foot, obliquely run;_

_thy firmness makes my circle just,_

_and makes me end where I begun._

_"_

_**A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning** by John Donne_

* * *

 

  
"Mornin'." she wrinkles her nose in confusion, still hazy with sleep. Steve chuckles.  
  
"Time to wake up, Angel."  
  
"It is barely light." She grumbles, "I stayed up all night reading my assigned work."  
  
"But I am awake."  
  
"And that is your problem, not mine." She huffs, reveling at his responding laughter.  
  
"I had a dream." There is a rustling of sheets as he does his best to sidle closer to her, movements stiff.  
  
Steve has a few more weeks before they take the casts off. The brace for his back, however would have to stay for a few more months. Recovery has been... difficult, to say the least. Slow. Diana has seen it cause him much discomfort and inconvenience. It still puzzles her why mortals take so long to heal, but Steve never complains, and smiles through the hurt, always. So she does the same.  
  
His breath is warm on her face and she knows that if she opens her eyes, she would be able to behold the oceans in his eyes. And she would be so mesmerized that she would have to find her way back to slumber again. Diana refuses to confer him the privilege.  
  
"I had a dream," he repeats, voice smooth and low. She feels him lift his hand and caress her face softly, "I dreamt I met an angel. She has this a sword and shield and fights... gosh, she fights like the wind. She is absolutely magnificent and I saw her coming from the sky, descending upon the earth on invisible wings."  
  
Finally, Diana slits open her eyes. His cerulean eyes are bright and glimmering, even in the dark. Behind him, the lightening sky washes their walls deep blues and grays. It is beautiful. He is beautiful.  
  
"That is me."  
  
"Exactly."  
  
He is closer now, but Diana has one more observation to make before she sinks into the depths of his voice, his eyes, and his embrace.  
  
"Then it is not a dream."  
  
He chuckles, it is a magical sound, and his lips are soft on her forehead. She hums with appreciation, eyes slipping close.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
His arms are warm around her and she can hear his heart, a steady drum.  
  
She lets herself sink.

**Author's Note:**

> I may come back and edit this slightly here and there, but here it is. In my most humble (and sleep-deprived) opinion, I am a lot more competent at angst, and painful things happening to beautiful characters, but I had to have this ending, so this is more for myself than anything.
> 
> There is another fic in the works, with which I can hopefully develop into a verse that I can spam the fandom with Steve x Diana happy sappy times. Or angsty times, or awesome, butt-kicking times.
> 
> Okay I hope I don't regret this in the morning because its almost 3am and I need to wake up in 3 hours for work send help
> 
> P.S. the last part is set about 4 months after the end of the war. Cheers!


End file.
